like two people arguing over directions
by madis hartte
Summary: . . . so he names the galaxy after her, and impulsively she kisses him on the cheek, her breath sliding cool along the ridge of his cheekbone, which freaks him out more than a little.


_"The Doctor does feel very guilty—VERY guilty—about letting River—well, y'know, he has to watch her **die**. To watch someone like that, who is **clearly** gonna be so important throughout the course of his time stream—in different ways, he doesn't know how, but he has an inkling, he has an inkling about everything—but yeah, that hurts him. And he **hates** losing people he loves. And River is one of them for sure."_

_~Matt Smith_

* * *

><p>"I've traveled in time. I'm a complicated space-time event too. Throw me in."<p>

He doesn't blink, doesn't look away from Angel Bob and his horde of weepers. But the Doctor learns one very important thing about her that day, one more important than any of all of the other hints and snippets and _spoilers_ thrown at him.

River Song is the single most stupid, blind, contrary woman he's ever met. And she loves him.

XX

After he's done comforting Amy (because of course he comforts Amy, she'd almost died alone in the dark) he heads straight for River. Which is really what he'd wanted to do all along, because River is a line to a puzzle he almost knows but he doesn't quite know, not really.

But he _does _know

he does know the line instinctively the way she speaks, the way she moves in that samba beat around the TARDIS. It'd been that way since the very beginning.

_"Look at the pair of you: we're all gonna die right here and you're just squabbling like an old married couple!"_

There were no giddy smolders, no butterflies, just this vague feeling of cross fondness that made absolutely no _sense._ And then, abruptly, it all kind of did—

_(that whisper, tickling against his ear; her breath, warm against the word she gave him. Waiting for the darkness to gobble them up, standing in that circle of artificial light. So _close_ to him. He'd shivered, and stared at a point just beyond the red halo of her hair)_

—because a name means nothing to time. Especially the name of a Time Lord. It would have to. Meeting your (well, your _spouse_) with all the wibbliness of time travel knocking about?

—the name would have to extend past everything and anything, through any barrier, through any point of foreknowledge or past-knowledge or general how-do-ye-do's.

It would have to.

And it all made some strange kind of a sense, because she knew his _name._

XX

Here is the truth:

He never wanted to fall in love with _River Song, archaeologist_.

He never, ever did.

But he still does anyways, because love's just like that sometimes: you're already falling, and when you realize enough to try and stop yourself it's already too late.

XX

At Asgard it's there every single time he looks at her: his foreknowledge, pressing down onto his skin, weighted little iron dents making hollows into her forehead from where the crown had pressed tight for the download.

How can she do it? How can she sit there, wine glass sparkling in her hand, and sparkle even more brilliantly than the wine and—and _flirt_ as if there is absolutely nothing nothing wrong? How _can_ she? He can barely— he can barely _look _at her, and he's just met her, and here she is, there she was dead, but she is so _alive._ So

alive

he can barely breathe, to look at her. Barely breathe. He takes the time to notice all these little things about her: the way her dress is blue blue blue, a sundress for a sunny day, the way she kicks her feet up into the air and rests her chin on her hands, lying on her stomach halfway in the grass, halfway on the blanket, the way

the way

her hair creates a little halo about her head, golden fire. It had been longer, and red before, high up in a ponytail, and next time he sees her he makes sure to have purchased a little black diary to record _Asgard, went on a picnic. Kind of nice. _and _Shadows._ (because he can't spell out that memory any further than the one word). Her hair this time is caught up in carefully brushed back curls, and she tells him along with the coordinates in the note sent via psychic paper that it's a black tie event, signed with an _x_ for kisses.

She sparkles then, too, and the dinner guests all laugh with her, fizzy champagne and her blue dress catches the curve of the floor as she mingles about the room. He trails behind her, holding a small plate piled with banana chips and strawberries and crab cakes, tugging awkwardly at the neckline of his tux with the other. He's never liked tuxes, and bow ties make him feel constricted.

When she slips out of the party with him in tow, the very first thing she does is turn around and undo his black silk bow tie, letting it trail down his white shirt like a black river. "Oh sweetie, you're having no fun, are you? I need to go check the _Byzantium's_ vaults—they're transporting something highly illegal and dangerous and no, you can't come with me, because you told me later that a slightly earlier version of a later you will be there to pick me up. Can't have you crossing your own time stream, can we?"

And he hates that she knows him so well. (but he sort of loves it, too)

XX

The _next_ time he sees her he's still running (from knock-knock-knock-knock who's there), and they stay in the TARDIS and the Doctor finds a bottle of mulled cider, which they drink far too much of. They dangle their feet outside the TARDIS doors and bellow folk songs at the top of their lungs and toast one another by the light of a nearby stardust galaxy, exploding electric blue-green-yellow across the sky. It's the best fun he's had since Donna. He'd almost thought he'd forgotten _how_ to have fun after that nasty trick with Mars. (But mostly Donna.) In the effulgent daze of the moment she confesses that her middle name is Alison, so he names the galaxy after her, and impulsively she kisses him on the cheek, her breath sliding

cool

along the ridge of his cheekbone, which freaks him out more than a little.

Afterwards he runs and runs, because River Song _terrifies_ him to bits, and decides to hell with River and almost ruins history by eloping with Lizzie, and then after _that_ whole fiasco is left behind in a forest glade he decides to visit the Ood, because really prophecies aren't all that they're cracked up to be, but it never hurts to double check, just to be on the safe side.

XX

The second time he does the _Byzantium_ he isn't looking for her at all. Brand new face, brand new companion, brand new TARDIS exterior/desktop interior, and maybe (he hopes) he can put the whole entire mess of his tenth life behind him, because thinking about it all makes him just want to curl up and not come out anymore for a long long while away.

_"Hello Sweetie", _carved into the home-box in High Gallifreyan, and her blowing a kiss at him from three thousand years in the past and coordinates and how in the _world_ does she even _know_ Gallifreyan to _begin_ with?

And it turns out his past catches up to him anyways in a melody about the river.

XX

When he plucks her out of open space (the mad, mad infernal woman had just _leaped_ out into the open void, what if he wasn't there to _catch her, _what if he was _late_, she's _insane)_ they fall together onto the console floor and the only thing he can think of to say is her name.

"River." (Half in surprise, half in recognition, and mostly in what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here-? inquiry.)

And it's all over again running, and always with River he's having much more fun than he'd expected. He always has fun with River, even though they're almost always this close to death, and it always comes as a surprise. For the first time since he met her he's almost able to forget about shadows and crowns.

But not quite.

XX

"How can you be 'engaged, in a manner of speaking'?"

It bothers it more than it should, because, well, he'd thought—and then she tries to lie, and Octavian corrects the lie, and the Doctor whispers "Stormcage" in her ear.

He's pretty sure it should bother him, that he is more worried about River being "engaged, in a manner of speaking" than River being in the highest security containment facility known to man throughout the universe. But it really kind of doesn't.

XX

_I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry my love, I'm—_

"Doctor, that's River," Amy says. "How can she be up there?" The satellite dish sags in his hands as he stares up at his TARDIS.

_I'm sorry my love, I'm—_

"Maybe it's a recording?" Rory asks. Good old Rory; you can always depend on him to ask such a straightforward, nonsensical question as that.

"No, it's not a recording," the Doctor says. River is up there, and she is loop loop looping. _I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry my love._ "Of _course_, the emergency protocol, the TARDIS has sealed off the control room and placed her in a time loop to save her." He's babbling, he knows he's babbling, but oh God:

"She is right at the heart of the explosion."

And for the first time he forgets all about libraries as

River now

because River

well

she is now, and she is apologizing. _Apologizing._ For—for what? Not getting out of the TARDIS in time? For not saving the TARDIS from exploding? A horrible thought: was _River_ the one to start the Big Bang? No, don't be stupid, that's a rubbish thought, don't even _consider_ it, a tricky bit of rerouting with the manipulator, it doesn't really _want_ to go into a place that is exploding throughout all of time and space, it's not _built_ to go _everywhere_, just one place, and he's not really sure if it'll even _work_, but River is apologizing, River is looping, River is ghosting, and it reminds him too much of—

(_My grandfather lasted a whole day. Kept on talking about his shoelaces.)_

And before he has time to think about it, because really he's best at making it up as he goes along, he manipulates into a fiery inferno of everything, everywhen, everymoment—and pops right inside the TARDIS doorway. Oh. He made it; loves it when he does that. "Hi honey," he tells her, going for _I Love Lucy_ reruns_,_ rubbing his wrist because the manipulator got a bit fried through transport. "I'm home."

And he smiles at her.

She stops, stares at him for one brief moment, face blank with shock. With a sickening lurch he wonders: how aware was she, of time looping? Did she not think he would come to get her? She visibly pulls herself together, checks her watch, and quips, "What sort of time do you call this?" and he knows that whatever River Song may or not be aware of, she is going to be absolutely a-okay.

XX

After a while he just stops being surprised at seeing her anywhere anymore, even standing next to Amy and Rory in Utah. He's actually happy to see her, and tries for flirting. It's time they've flirted, right? They've gone on a few . . . well. He wouldn't call them _dates, _not really, although that one with Her Majesty the Goldfish _had_ been pretty memorable, but they've gone on a handful of them by now, more than a handful, really, so flirting—yeah he can do flirting.

"River, you bad, bad girl, what have you got for me this time?"

And she slaps him.

"I'm assuming that's for something I haven't done yet," he manages to grind out past a clenched jaw. Okay. Maybe it's a _no _to the flirting. Maybe he'll never ever flirt with River Song ever ever again, see how she likes it, and he hasn't really forgotten, just more conveniently shoved it into the back corner of his mind, but:

Who is River Song, and who did she kill? (He can't pretend that they aren't important, the answers to those questions will decide everything between them.)

Her eyes blaze bright, bright in her face, and he can tell that she is _sitting_ on her frustration-anger-sadness to be able to calmly say, calm as glittering glass: "Yes it is."

Great. Something to look forward to then. Lovely.

XX

He yells at her with quiet words, and he can't find it in himself to even feel the littlest bit sorry.

_I love a bad girl, me, but trust **you**? Seriously?_

It's really a rhetorical question.

XX

"Richard Millhouse Nixon. Vietnam, Watergate. Some good stuff too."

"Not enough."

"_Hippie!"_

"Archaeologist."

(And somehow they're alright again, falling together like they always, always seem to do. He still hasn't quite figured that one out yet.)

They fall against one another, go put up some cabinets, that's really rude you know, and then he's almost sure he wants her to come with them. Y'know, just for a little while. Just for a visit. Because he's pretty sure he trusts River Song now.

And then she kisses him.

XX

He's still—he's not sure how to find Amy. But he knows who will. After the Cyber Legion tells him _Demon's Run_, he begins calling in his debts. And while she technically doesn't owe him a debt, she knows Amy, she loves her too, just as much as he does (neither of them can match Rory, because Rory's Rory and Amy's Amy and that's the way it's always going to be, two thousand thousand years), the Doctor _knows_ she does, so when she tells Rory "No," it's like she's—she—he'd thought, because they'd _kissed—_

He really hasn't seen her after then, not really. Well, there was that one time with Marilyn and the biplane and the possessed orchestra, but that didn't count, they'd been too _busy_, and besides it was an older her and he'd sort of . . . fudged a bit and said he was slightly younger and, well, so no kissing. Besides, kissing River Song makes him all _nervous_ and _jumpy_ and funny swirl-de-loops ricocheting through his stomach and he _really_ doesn't _need_ that. He _doesn't_. He's just fine with Sexy and co and River can just, well, go somewhere else.

(It still hurts, though, when she says no, and it forces him to bring along Malodvarian instead. Bah. River knows the underworld of the universe far better than Maldovarian ever could, he'd _seen_ her handle the loan sharks and Jim, and she had been absolutely _fantastic_. No, Maldovarian is definitely not the Doctor's first choice in rescuing Amy and Baby.)

XX

"Hello, hello err baby."

"Melody."

"Melody! Hello Melody Pond."

XX

Melody Pond is yogurt. He's failed Rory, and Amy can't even look at him because Melody has been stolen away, is going to be (has been, little girl in an astronaut suit) raised to kill

to kill

well. Does it really need saying? (to kill _him_) Amy is right to not want to hug him, because it is all his fault. It is all completely, utterly his fault. (_I break **everything.**)_ He can't—he can't do this anymore. He's tired. He's been tired, he's wanted to give in since Gallifrey, but no, the universe just wouldn't let him, and he's tired, damn it, so tired. Rest: the most beautiful word.

But she always comes on the tail wings of thunder. "Well then soldier, how goes the day?" Slowly he turns on his heel to face her. She's smiling.

She's smiling.

She's _smiling. _How **dare** she smile, when everything's been shot through to hell, how **dare **she. Anger and disbelief bubble through him, roiling, black bubbles frothing out from somewhere deep inside. He's walking towards her, automatic, almost running, and "Where the _hell_ have you been?" His hands, clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms, he's pretty sure he'd very much like to _punch_ something. Caustic anger: he spits, "Every single time you have asked I have been there were the _hell_ were you today?" Right in her face, bearing down on her, several inches taller, growling.

She is calm, unflappable, entirely cool and dry and rational and he _hates_ that. "I couldn't have prevented this," she says.

"You could have _tried_," he snarls, and he has to walk away because if he didn't—(_the Doctor's never been a violent man, but he sorely would like to hit something). _And they both know that statement isn't really directed at her, and he hates hates **hates** that she knows him so, so well, and he's pretty sure he hates River Song. **_Hates_** her.

"And so, my love, could you." Her words drop into his soul like stones, simple, smooth and grey, and he is shocked, because _they both know he wasn't_

_really_

_yelling at her._

She directs her gaze to Amy and Rory, who cling to one another, the only two people in the whole world. "I know you're not alright. But hold tight, Amy, because you're going to be." As if that makes it **okay, **as if that makes it all **better**, how _dare_ she!

It is a slap in the face, because _he_ was the one who brought them here to this place, _he_ was the one who asked _do you want to see everywhere?_ and "Do you think I wanted this?" He points to Amy and Rory and this whole bloody mess because "I didn't want this! This—This wasn't **_me_**_!"_

"This was exactly you. All this. All of it." Her gaze on his is sage green, every word chosen to carry the most impact, the most weight, the most _damage_. His eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You make them so afraid. When you began all those years ago, sailing off to see the Universe, did you ever think you'd become this? The man who can turn an army around at the mention of his name. 'Doctor': the word for healer and wise man throughout the Universe. We get that word from you, you know. If you carry on the way you are, what might that word come to mean?"

She begins to circle him, the even cadence of her boots and the steadiness of her voice the only sounds in the quiet. "To the people of the Gamma Forests, the word Doctor means 'Mighty Warrior.' How far you've come." She's behind him now; he half turns to keep her in his line of sight. "And now they've taken a child." He turns away from her, because if he looks at her anymore he'll start to cry. As he begins to walk away from her, River's voice carries on without him, strong and clear, telling him of all his worst mistakes, his finest failures. He's tired, so tired.

"The child of your best friends. And they're going to turn her into a weapon just to bring you down. And all this, my love, in fear of you." She half laughs at the end, and shrugs her shoulders, as if to say "what can you do?" and all of his tears have dried up, unshed. Steel, determination, quiet rage like poison, a silver knife, the tread of his boots as he walks walks walks towards her, his gaze never leaving her.

"Who are you," he says.

Her gaze widens. She blurts out something about his cot, skipping backwards as he reaches out to grab her. She brings them near the cot; he grabs her by the wrist, hard, and says, voice iron: "No, tell me—tell me who you are." He gives her arm a little shake with every word, and he's probably leaving bruises in cut-out finger shapes, he's gripping her so tight.

Taking his hand in both of hers, she says, "I _am_ telling you." She places his hand onto the small, painted-gold wooden decorative ball of the cot's end, curling his fingers around it and her own hand curling over his. "Can't you read?"

What does she _mean_, can he read, of _course_ he can read, there's really nothing to read but

but the Gallifreyan and the prayer leaf at the bottom of the cot that Lorna Bucket must have given Amy with River's name on it in the language of Lorna's people, and since the only water that the Gamma Forest has to offer is the river it says River instead of Pond, of _course_ he can read, River, don't be stupid.

Oh.

Then it abruptly all makes sense.

_Oh._

Slowly he looks up at from the prayer leaf and their conjoined hands to find Melody Pond smiling at him, and oh she is breathtaking because she is River Song and it all makes sense and he can't quite seem able to stop smiling. "Hello," he says.

"Hello," she says. She can't seem to stop smiling, too. Joy bubbles up within him, displacing all those dark bubbles, transforming them into the most happiest, fragile of creatures.

A laugh spills from him. "But that means—" _that you're Melody Pond_, because he just has to make sure. No more mistakes today, including mistaken identities.

"I'm afraid it does." He claps his hands together in delight. Melody Pond! _His_ River, Melody Pond! Little-girl-from-the-orphanage Pond, who . . . kissed him. And flirted with him. With whom he quite shamelessly flirted back with on more than one occasion. With her parents standing _right there_, and the father has a gladius and is a Roman and as such knows how to actually _use_ the gladius.

He turns to look at Rory the Roman, who has said gladius on him currently. "Ooh." He turns back to River, points at her. "But you and I, we—we—we—we—" And makes kissy faces at her.

"_Yes," _she agrees, and kissing

River Song, the very memory makes him giggle with delight, and the way she says that "yes" means that there will be lots and lots of wonderful snogging and Amy and Rory are her _parents._ He glances back at them again. "Ooh." Probably best if the snogging is not done while they're around, then, but yes. There will definitely be snogging.

But for there to be any River Song to snog he will have to find a small little melody first right off. He turns towards River, straightens his bow tie and adjusts the lapels of his coat. "How do I look?" he asks her. _(Am I still Soldier? Or Doctor?)_

She grins at him. "Amazing." _(Doctor. Always the Doctor.)_

"I better be." He's grinning so wide his face hurts, and he points at her again as he whirls around because she is Melody Pond. River is Melody. Melody is River.

He doesn't think that'll ever get old.

The Doctor informs various kith and kin about the room: "Vastra and Jenny, 'til the next time. Rory and Amy, I know where to find your daughter and on my _life_ she will be safe! River, get them all home."

XX

Because he's the Doctor and she's River and sometimes it's as simple as that.


End file.
